The Distance Between Us
by Daniel Lazerus
Summary: Re-located from "The Terrorists' Handbook" under the penname Cerberus Revised. Miyagi and Shinobu struggle with their differences and what this means for their relationship. Will the two lovers be able to overcome the vast distance between them? Rated M for adult themes and situations.
1. Old: Miyagi's POV

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica or any of its characters.**

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**The Distance Between Us**

**Chapter One: "Old" Miyagi's POV**

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Miyagi shuffled wearily into his apartment and kicked off his loafers. Despite the exhaustion he felt, he was revived into a smile by the sight of Shinobu's trendy tennis shoes and his school bag lined up carefully along the side of the front hall.

Miyagi had been a bit worried that by the time he finally made it home, his young lover might have abandoned the apartment in pursuit of some activity more fulfilling than waiting. He was really late... again, after all.

He set his briefcase down and slipped off his coat. Miyagi then automatically reached for the cigarette pack he kept in his breast pocket.

Frowning, he stopped just short of taking it out. He had recently promised Shinobu to at least try and cut down while he was at home.

Shinobu did not approve of his smoking, nor did the teen, as he so frequently and vocally made it known. appreciate being a victim of the older man's secondhand smoke either.

Miyagi walked out into the front room. There were a number of food items set out on the counter in various stages of preparation for their evening meal. By now, however, Shinobu had finally learned not to begin actually cooking anything until his wayward lover had truly arrived home. This arrangement saved him on resentful feelings, overcooked vegetables, and gelatinous noodles.

Looking at these unfinished attempts by his brat to care for him, Miyagi felt terribly guilty.

_Fucking faculty meetings._ He rubbed his aching forehead. If he didn't watch it, he would soon end up with a furrowed brow like Kamijou's.

_By the gods though, those meeting are becoming more and more unbearable_!

Miyagi had never been big into the administrative aspect of academia: research and teaching, that was where his heart was at. Now, though, it seemed like each year there were more young, upstart faculty with all their pride, new ideas, and no sense of institutional history; each one of them hungry and fighting for a place in the University's system.

The hours today that they had spent arguing over words and readings as new policies were being crafted and bylaws implemented, it was fucking ridiculous.

Miyagi loved words, poetry, narrative, and he had built his whole life around interpretation, translation, the delicious revelations brought on by an artful twist of a phrase, but all those words wasted today were worthless. And the posturing and administrative bullshit he'd just been forced to endure, drove him insane. And, even worse, attending those meetings, more and more often left him feeling increasingly old and out of step with what was going on in the world.

Miyagi made his way down the hall to Shinobu's room. He remembered how angry the young man had been when he insisted that he have his own room, though it wasn't as if Shinobu actually slept there: the two of them had been sleeping together every night now for months.

Thankfully, he had weathered that tantrum. Miyagi was adamant that Shinobu have his own space in the apartment, a refuge of sorts. Something Shinobu could claim as his own. Young men need space and occasionally privacy after all, as did older men too. Besides, by giving Shinobu his own room, it kept the disruption of the rest of Miyagi's space... well, their space, to a minimum.

Now that Shinobu had finally gotten it through his thick, determined head that this arrangement was not a rejection, he seemed to have at last realized that having his own space was actually kind of nice. Anyway, he had certainly been spending a lot more of his time in there lately, instead of wreaking havoc on the kitchen or loitering in angry anticipation on the couch as he waited for Miyagi to return home.

The door to Shinobu's room was ajar.

Miyagi stuck his head cautiously in after receiving no response from his soft rapping. As always he found himself a bit overwhelmed by the sight that met him.

He had known from his time with his ex-wife and Shinobu's elder sister, Risako, that the Takatsuki family was very well off, and the Dean and his wife spoiled their offspring, but Miyagi still had a hard time reconciling his own spare sensibilities to the consumer chaos that seemed to rule Shinobu's life.

It had taken little time for the room to become filled with a TV, gaming consoles, manga, books, and DVDs, posters on the walls regarding things that Miyagi had no cultural reference for, clothes and all kinds of other gadgets: basically everything that was apparently required to ensure a teenager's popularity and success.

At least Shinobu had a strong sense of order and treated his belongings well, unlike his older sister. And Miyagi did have to admit that few of these things seemed to have been directly acquired by the teen. Most of them were foisted on Shinobu by his parents, still apparently feeling badly about him leaving the family home.

They had been so grateful when Miyagi had offered that Shinobu could stay with him. The possibility of an unexpected parental visit was yet another reason for the boy to have his own room, though this had not happened... yet. Miyagi felt his stomach tighten at how the Takatsuki's would feel and what they might do if they knew the truth of the situation.

He was often amazed at how nonchalantly Shinobu responded, the few times he had voiced his concerns. Wondering at the mysteries of his lover's mind, Miyagi studied the youth. Shinobu was sitting with his back to him. The tawny blond had his ears plugged into his MP3 player.

The professor was sure that Shinobu would be deaf before he was twenty-five, listening to his music, if it could be called that, at the levels he did. Miyagi could hear the bass pulse of it beyond the ear-buds from where he was standing. Shinobu had tried to get him to expand his musical taste, but to him it just sounded like someone castrating cats without the benefit of an anesthetic.

Looking down at all the papers spread beneath the boy on the desk, one might get the idea that Shinobu was doing his homework, but it was hard for Miyagi to tell. Shinobu seemed to also be texting someone on his phone with one hand, while simultaneously carrying on some shared chat conversation with someone else on his laptop with the other.

The boy was so engrossed that he didn't even notice Miyagi standing there.

Rather than disturb him, Miyagi backed out of the room shaking his head. He couldn't help but wonder what all that technology and multi-tasking was doing to Shinobu's tender neurons.

He also wondered how in the hell was a technological dinosaur like himself supposed to keep up?

He actually had just finally gotten a cell phone a few weeks before Shinobu's insistence. He had resisted succumbing to the pressure of getting one for so long. Primarily, because those contraptions were the bane of his academic existence: student's constantly checking e-mails and texting during class.

Half the time even now, when Shinobu texted him, Miyagi couldn't tell what the kid was saying. _Lol, Wtf. Rotflmao_, it was like some strange encrypted code and he found it exhausting to try and decipher it. Not to mention he still didn't understand why Shinobu couldn't just call him when he wanted something and talk to him like any decent person would.

In fact, they had quarreled just a few days before because Shinobu, from his bedroom, had texted him, when he was standing in the kitchen not fifteen feet away. Even more frustrating was when Shinobu then couldn't understand why his "Old Man was acting so crazed about it." It was ridiculous.

Miyagi decided that he needed a few minutes to relax. He found his hand automatically drifting to his breast pocket again. He pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.

I_t couldn't hurt if I just hold it in my mouth and don't light it. Right?_

Miyagi grimaced, knowing he was starting down an awfully slippery slope.

Rather than deal with this knowledge, he chose instead to retreat to _his_ bedroom, _their_ sleeping/sexing quarters.

He sighed at the peace of the room's austerity, the low dresser with few objects sitting on its surface, the large futon, the two bookcases, his favorite chair (the one his ex-wife had tried endlessly to make him get rid of).

He was disappointed that he had missed the sun patch that unfurled itself through the window and draped itself over the back of his chair so beautifully in the late afternoon.

_Damn meeting_, he thought again.

Still, the moment he sank into his chair, Miyagi felt himself soothed. After all these years, the cushions conformed perfectly to the contours of his body. He sighed again, leaning back into its comfortable embrace.

After resting here for a bit, he leaned forward and pulled one of his favorite vinyl records off the bookcase. He slid it out from its faded cardboard sleeve, lifted the lid of his record player, and placed the disc on the turntable. The phonograph was one of the few things he'd taken with him from his childhood home, after his parents had died, one within a year of the other.

Miyagi plugged in his own ancient, over-sized ear phones and closed his eyes, listening to the carefully constructed notes, blissfully free of words, but conveying so much meaning, nonetheless.

The static and scratching of the vinyl's sound lulled him and made him feel more than a little nostalgic.

The music stirred his memories and he could clearly see now the patterns of his past, choosing people (women) who were unavailable in some way because it had allowed him to avoid his true nature. At least until Fate, in the form of this complicated, beautiful, and occasionally obnoxious young man, Shinobu, with his dogged love, had finally revealed it and forced him to accept it.

_Such is the conviction of youth._

Though the music carried him, it was unable to lift Miyagi's heavy sense of anxiety.

Miyagi knew that with each passing day, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he found himself falling more and more deeply in love with his precocious ward.

It still bothered him that his lover was not just younger, but _so_ young.

Lately though he was more disturbed by the thought that even with all his declarations of _Fate_, Shinobu, as he matured, would at some point grow out of his infatuation with his foolish old man.

With the talents and brilliance housed in his lover's splendid slender frame and troubled blond head, Miyagi also knew that Shinobu had the potential to go far in the world. He needed to reach his potential. He did not need a stagnating academic tying him down.

Miyagi was loathe to admit how much of his world Shinobu had become. Though he was already dreading it, he hoped that when that time came he would find he loved Shinobu enough to release him graciously. Until then, however, he would allow himself to be greedy: he did not need to share Shinobu with the world just yet.

Closing his eyes, Miyagi willed the music to ease his conflicted soul.

_So many days, now, _he mused, _I, who lived for so long in the past, find myself wishing for an infinite future with my gray-eyed heart._

If only there was some way he could successfully navigate the vast distance between them.

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**New AN: **

**My apologies to the readers who reviewed this the first time through. I know all my shiftings and re-locations make it seem like I have a bit of MPD... Please know how much I appreciate your understanding and patience. I have all the original reviews archived. They mean so much to me.**

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**Old AN:**

**So this was my first ever Terrorist fic. TBH when I first encountered JR, I didn't like them much, as I was very disconcerted by their age difference. In fact, I wrote this story, because I wanted to understand the couple better.**

**Now I realize that despite the gap in their ages, they're actually probably much more aligned in many ways than many couples who are much closer in age.**

**And actually now... I really rather love them.**

**Hope you will too.**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing.**

**Sincerely,**

**Cerberus**


	2. New: Shinobu's POV

**The Distance Between Us**

**Chapter Two: "New" Shinobu's POV**

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Shinobu detached himself from his ear phones, logged out of the chatroom, and turned off his phone. He shuffled the homework pages beneath him and set them in a neat pile on the corner of his desk. He would work on them later, not that it mattered he was already at least two weeks ahead in most of his classes.

While he had not heard Miyagi come in, Shinobu was aware that something in the apartment had changed: it no longer felt empty.

The frowning teen emerged from his room, annoyed with how fast his heart had suddenly started beating at the possibility that Miyagi might have finally come home. he felt this same heart sink when he encountered the vacant front room.

That was until he noticed Miyagi's shoes and his briefcase lined up in the hall alongside his own.

Shinobu walked over to the entry. He bent down and traced the toe of one of Miyagi's shoes with a long, thin finger. He blushed, thinking how stupid it was that something as simple as the sight of Miyagi's big tired brown loafers next to his own new sporty shoes could move him so. He supposed that this was because it was proof that the dream he had guarded for so long had finally come true.

The youth crept back into the depths of the apartment and softly pushed open the door to Miyagi's… to their room. Sure enough, there was Miyagi.

Shinobu's first response to seeing that Miyagi had come home without announcing his arrival was to storm in and berate the man for not immediately letting him know he was there, especially after he'd been waiting for hours.

It wasn't as if he expected Miyagi to shower him with kisses and declarations of affection upon arriving home, though secretly he might have liked that maybe once in a while. Why didn't the old man understand yet, how painful his absence was? Every minute that Shinobu passed alone in the apartment they were now sharing was interminable.

However, Shinobu found his anger evaporating as his gaze lingered on his professor: watching the big man sit in that broken down chair that fit him so perfectly, his eyes closed, ears encased in those archaic head-phones, unlit cigarette dangling loosely from one corner of his sensual mouth.

_Risako tried to make Miyagi get rid of that chair._

Shinobu could still clearly remember one of those torturous times (before he had revealed himself to Miyagi) when he'd had to stay overnight with the Miyagi and his sister while his parents were traveling to some event. It was ridiculous really that they had gone to the bother of making those arrangements. He had been more or less on his own in some fashion for years. His folks were really rarely around; both so involved with their own lives and the politics of advancement.

Still he had acquiesced to going because it meant that he would be able to be around _Him_.

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While he was there, passing by the couple's bedroom he had heard Miyagi and his sister fighting over that chair.

"I swear, Yoh, I don't understand your stubbornness. Why won't you just let me get rid of this broken down relic?"

"Risako, love, I have had that chair since I was an undergrad. It was the first piece of furniture I ever bought on my own. I wrote two theses and my dissertation sitting in that chair. It is where I have had some of my greatest thoughts."

"Well, I don't care about any of that, Yoh. It's tacky and horrible and doesn't go with any of our other décor. You live too much in the past as it is. Let it go! I swear you value that piece of junk more than you do my happiness!"

Standing out in the hall, Shinobu had held his breath, waiting to hear Miyagi's declarations to the contrary, an outpouring of affirmation regarding Risako's value to him and the importance of their love. But none had come, Miyagi had simply remained silent.

Ducking around a corner, a moment later, Shinobu had hidden himself just in time to see his sister storm out, slamming the door behind her. His own heart had begun banging just as violently as he was seized with a sudden sense of hope.

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Gray eyes narrowed even now, as Shinobu recalled how Risako had treated his lover.

_Silly shallow bitch. _

Shinobu still couldn't believe that she had not realized in her demands that she was doing the very thing she had accused Miyagi of. Perhaps the chair was a relic, but if she had understood her husband at all, she would have recognized Miyagi loved two things above all else, thought and historical relics. Why else would he have otherwise dedicated his whole life to something as particular as ancient literature?

Miyagi's attachment to the past could be most clearly seen in the world he'd fashioned for himself. There was nothing he treasured that was new or shiny.

_Except me. _Shinobu realized.

There were times like this, observing the man as he was, that Miyagi seemed to him to belong to a different era, one even further removed from the time the man had been born into.

Shinobu's face took on its familiar frown as he worried about this, the way that he stuck out in his lover's life, the disruption he brought to Miyagi's comfortable monastic existence. He wanted nothing more than to be a worthy acolyte to his handsome scholar monk.

The teen felt tears well up in his unruly eyes. He tried so hard to tone himself down, to seem older, less _new_, but unfortunately, every time he did this he seemed to only exaggerate his novelty and his unworthiness.

Standing still unnoticed in the doorway, Shinobu continued to study his lover. Miyagi was lost in his musical reverie, his body relaxed and completely still, except for one of his large hands, swinging back and forth on occasion to emphasize the movement of a particular passage of the piece he was listening to. The grace of this small gesture reminded Shinobu of a cat's tail, flicking in contentment as it lounged on a sunny sill.

It troubled Shinobu that as comfortable as he was with the fast pace of the world in which he resided, that he always felt as though he could not keep up with his beloved elder's slow purposeful meanderings.

The boy turned from the door and headed out towards the kitchen to resume fixing their dinner.

Reflecting on Miyagi's subtle orchestration, Shinobu realized that everything was like that for Miyagi. He seemed to flow rather languidly through his life, as though nothing bothered him, as though little mattered. However, the longer he lived with him, the more Shinobu understood now this motion was more practiced than natural.

Many people interpreted Miyagi's mode of conduct as carefree or careless. His sister Risako did, and Shinobu had more than once heard Kamijou Sensei, complaining about it. But these people didn't really know anything about Miyagi. Not the way he understood him anyways.

Shinobu moved into the kitchen and grabbed up the knife from where he'd left it on the cutting board. He angrily chopped the vegetables he was preparing in response to these people's disregard.

Miyagi was not at all carefree, he worked very hard. Shinobu should know; he was the one who had to endure missing his lover because of it. All the hours spent in the same room, separated by the papers Miyagi had brought home to grade. The lonely times spent on his own, while the older man was in meetings or at the library doing research. And no one knew all the extra things Miyagi did for his students, like writing their letters of recommendation by hand, on good parchment in that beautiful script he had.

Or things like what had happened just two nights ago, when a teary-eyed thesis student had shown up unannounced on their doorstep, completely beside herself. Miyagi had worked with the young woman until almost two a.m. helping her get her thoughts organized. He never lost his patience with her the entire time she was there or even thought to point out that she had interrupted him and Shinobu at a _very_ inopportune time.

Shinobu of course had been pissed. It was not often he had time with Miyagi. Add to that having to endure the girl's questioning looks at him and Miyagi's announcement that he was a family relative staying with him _temporarily_. He had been incensed about having to pretend that he slept in his own room.

_At least until after that idiot girl finally left and Miyagi came and crawled into "my" bed wanting to continue our earlier interrupted "tutoring" session._

The youth blushed as he felt warmth flood his groin at the memory. There were definite advantages at times to having a partner who was so much older. Miyagi was an amazing lover.

Still, as Shinobu set the table, he acknowledged to himself that more often than not, the difference in their ages was frustrating.

He understood that this was the time in his life when he should be exploring the world, but what did that mean when his world was Miyagi?

It was maddening sometimes the references that Miyagi made about things that he had no connection to. There was so much history to the man that had happened before he had even been born. Miyagi knew so much about so many things, and not in a casual "Google search" sort of way, but in a way that spoke of deep learning and dedicated investigation.

Shinobu knew he was very bright and a quick study, but still he worried that at some point Miyagi would grow weary of having to provide such constant instruction. That he would eventually become too frustrated by the fact that the scope of his younger over's knowledge was so limited to continue in their relationship.

The idea that he would tax the old man into rejection or that the professor might simply grow bored with him was unbearable.

Often he found himself wishing he were older and more confident. He wanted desperately to become a man who could stand rightfully alongside the one that he loved. Shinobu was terrified at times that he would lose Miyagi because he could not evolve quickly enough into the man he should and wanted to hoped he would have the time he needed with Miyagi to become part of the past his lover so treasured, enough so that the man would not be able to relinquish him.

Until then, Shinobu wished he knew more how he could successfully navigate the vast distance between them.

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**Thank you for reading and please review.**

**Lionfish13, what a wonderful treat from you today to receive so many lovely and articulate reviews. Thank you for noticing the little details. It's so pleasing to have someone mention them and they give me so much pleasure to write. Hope you continue to enjoy the rest of the story. And that bit about the cell phones... I am more on Miyagi's end of that spectrum, but I have experienced that too.  
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	3. Traversing

**The Distance Between Us**

**Chapter Three: Traversing**

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Shinobu heard Miyagi leave the bedroom and go into the bathroom. He listened to the water run.

Miyagi entered the front room a few minutes later encountering a frowning Shinobu.

The professor was still in his work clothes, but his tie was off, collar unbuttoned, sleeves likewise, and rolled back. He was running damp hands through his shiny black hair and managing to look only slightly sheepish.

"Sorry I didn't tell you I was home, Shinobu. I checked in on you, but it looked like you were busy and I didn't want to bother you."

The scowl on Shinobu's face softened only slightly at this confession.

"That's okay. You looked like you'd had a hard day, so I thought I'd give you a few minutes too." Shinobu tried to sound nonchalant as he inadvertently admitted to his own checking in. Then he sniffed.

"Miyagi!" A storm rose in his gray eyes. He held out his hand. "Give them to me."

The older man's face now sported a scowl of his own.

"It was only a few puffs. I didn't even smoke the whole thing." Miyagi's voice was almost plaintive as he said this.

"Bathroom or bedroom?" Shinobu demanded.

"Okay," Miyagi confessed. "I lit up in the bedroom… Force of habit."

"Look, Old Man, you might like sleeping in a chimney, but I don't!"

"Well, you could always sleep in your own room then," Miyagi replied darkly, though both knew as soon as the words left his mouth this was an idle threat.

Defeated, Miyagi reluctantly took the pack out of his breast pocket and handed it to Shinobu. He winced as he watched the teen stuff his beloved cigarettes into the front pocket of his jeans. He knew his babies were going to be crushed beyond recognition the first time that his brat sat down.

"One after dinner…_if_ you're good…and only outside," Shinobu huffed as he went back into the kitchen to grab the food.

Miyagi would have been seriously pissed off if it weren't for the fact that the scrunched up expression of indignant authority on his young lover's face was just so damn cute.

"Fine," he conceded. Then he added casually, "smells good." He was testing to see if he could ascertain how the temperature of their table was going to be this evening.

"You're a terrible liar, Old Man!" Shinobu tried to sound stern but failed. His attempt tonight had been one of his better and he was secretly pleased to have this recognized.

"Shu-chin, you wound me," Miyagi cried in the teasing voice he usually reserved for his junior, Kamijou. "Why must you always be so cruel?"

Ignoring him, Shinobu placed the bowls on the table and sat down across from his melodramatic lover. After a quick blessing, Shinobu jumped right back into to where the conversation had left off.

"Can it with the 'Shu-chin' crap!" This was a new nickname Miyagi had been provoking him with lately. "I am not a child."

Miyagi was not in the least bit disturbed by Shinobu's irate tone.

"That, My Dear, is a matter of contention." Then, quickly surveying the table, before Shinobu could go into a tirade about his last comment Miyagi observed carefully, "No cabbage?"

Seeing the dark expression on the sweet face across form him, Miyagi suddenly wondered if he shouldn't have been a bit wiser in choosing his diversionary tactics.

"I have been expanding a bit, you know. I am quite capable of learning how to cook something more than cabbage," Shinobu shot back haughtily.

"Of your capabilities, my lovely Shinobu-chin, I have never had any doubt." Miyagi said this mildly, but there was truth in his voice.

The sincerity of the older man's statement surprised Shinobu and rendered him silent for a moment. He found to his great dismay that he was blushing at this understated praise.

Sensing he had maneuvered Shinobu away from the unstable realm of emotion and onto the slightly less treacherous terrain of reason, Miyagi asked with a gentle smile, "So, Shu, how was your day?"

With this tender prompt, Shinobu launched into the details of the trials and tribulations of his new school and the perpetual trauma of being a teenager.

He had recently been kicked out of yet another school. Not for anything overtly malicious, but he was just too damn smart for his own good and bored easily, which almost inevitably lead him to mischief. His new school was an international academy comprised of teens from all over the world, who were for one reason or another, residing in Japan.

After his time in Australia Shinobu found this diversity engaging and he was really trying to make a go of it this time. It didn't hurt that Miyagi threatened to kick his ass if he fucked up again, as he was running out of options.

Miyagi sat quietly in an attitude of rapt attention as Shinobu spoke. He made the appropriate sounds at the right places, asked thoughtful questions, and what's more, he really listened to everything Shinobu was saying (a courtesy he'd rarely offered his ex-wife).

This ability to listen closely, when he wanted to, was a big part of what made him, actually a very effective and much loved instructor. As a professor he not only lectured, but also guided his students through his courses, using this skill and leading them with well-placed questions.

It had taken Shinobu more than a few months of living with him to understand that this interest was genuine and that he was not simply be patronized.

This experience was very different from anything he had previously known. Whenever his parents had asked him about his day, those brief moments between meetings and engagements, it only took about two minutes after he started talking for their eyes to begin glazing over. Before living with Miyagi, it had been years since he'd answered the question of how his day went with more than a simple, "fine."

Once he'd reached an appropriate stopping point, Shinobu looked over inquisitively. "What about you, Old Man?"

There were many things Miyagi could have chosen to tell Shinobu about his day, however, he did not want to weigh his young lover down with the mundane minutia of his life.

Also, he did not really feel it appropriate to talk about his colleagues or his students with someone who was so much younger and who, no matter how many times he tried to forget this fact, was still the Dean's son. So, he did what he usually did most often in these supposed situations of give and take: he deflected.

"Shu-chin, you devastate me with your unkind labels. I am not _so_ old."

"That," Shinobu echoed smartly, "is a matter of contention." His gray eyes were smiling, even if his mouth was not.

Hearing Shinobu's words Miyagi was gripped by a strange sense of déjà vu.

"I'll have you know, Shinobu," Miyagi's his face was serious, "that while for a head of cabbage, I may be very old indeed… for a mountain, I have not yet begun in years."

"Ha!" cried Shinobu. "It's lettuce not cabbage, and you just completely ripped that line off from that _Remo Williams_ movie we watched the other night."

"In my version cabbage seems more appropriate… given our circumstances," Miyagi replied nonplussed and then he added, "Besides, I cannot be held responsible for the after effects of what happens when you force me to watch those ridiculous American action movies you're so fond of."

"Well," Shinobu challenged, "You said you wanted to see an old movie."

"I meant something classic."

"That's classic. It was made, like, in the eighties."

"Oi, Brat, you have no sense of history!" Miyagi, shook his head. "Anyway, you know I don't like the stereotyping of Asian males films like that portray."

"What do you mean?" Shinobu was suddenly curious.

"You know…" Miyagi rolled his eyes. "That we're all yakuza or some wizened oriental Yoda."

"You're just saying that because you're still mad the last time you went to America everyone thought you'd been named after that _Karate Kid_ movie."

Miyagi suddenly wished he hadn't confided to his young lover (after a night of drinking with Kamijou) about his semester abroad as an undergrad and the annoying frat boys who called him "Wax on/Wax off" for the four and a half months he was there.

Shinobu was really getting into this now."Aren't you omitting a possibly significant subtext in both of these films?"

"First," Miyagi corrected, "those are movies, not films, but make your point."

"Well, that westerners must eventually bow and submit themselves to the more effective and enlightened ways of the East if they are to achieve true consciousness and victory." Shinobu was quite convinced of his reading.

"No," Miyagi disagreed. "It's nothing more than Hollywood's perpetuation of blatant romanticized Orientalism."

With this their debate began.

This was one of the things that Miyagi truly loved about Shinobu: the kid was so fucking smart and willing, once he had an idea, to take any discussion to the mat. Miyagi dealt with enough youths each day to know that this kind of passion was rare.

Shinobu, likewise, loved it when he and his lover would get engaged in conversations like this, in part because this was one of the places where he learned the most about Miyagi. The man was very stingy about the details of his everyday life. Additionally, no matter where or when else Miyagi might call him a "brat," during these debates, he never referred to him that way, but treated him as an equal.

By the end of their verbal sparring, Miyagi and Shinobu were both bright-eyed and breathless. Such intellectual wrestling had become for them, in the time they had been together, another form of foreplay.

So, it did not surprise Shinobu too much, when after he'd cleared the table and was standing at the sink washing the dishes that Miyagi slid up behind and wrapped his arms around him. Shinobu pushed back into the touch. He loved the comforting mass of his lover. Miyagi was tall and slender, but there was a solidity to the man that anchored him.

Sometimes when he pictured the two of them together, he envisioned a small patch of pasture. Miyagi would appear as a dark, smooth, half-buried stone, he a tawny clump of wild grass made wild by the force of the wind, writhing on the surface of the rock,.

Miyagi slid his hands down the waistband of Shinobu's loose jeans, one large palm traveling the length of each of the teen's narrow hips. He paused, resting his hands in their hollows and leaned over the Shinobu's shoulder.

"Are you growing again?" he growled. "Because you feel skinnier."

These kinds of observations embarrassed Shinobu. He used his elbows to awkwardly push Miyagi back.

"Shut up!" He felt his ears grow hot. "Help me dry."

"Mmmmm… not yet," Miyagi mumbled, burying his face in the back of his lover's honeyed head. He breathed in, relishing the way Shinobu smelled. He kept one hand in Shinobu's jeans and slid it over to the front, brushing it across the youth, stirring him. The other hand, he brought up and placed under his boy's jaw, pulling Shinobu's chin way up, turning his head, and exposing his long slender throat.

Miyagi kissed Shinobu's small Adam's apple and then extended his tongue and teased it upwards. He rubbed his nose along his gray-eyed heart's fine jawline. Then he pulled back, slightly surprised.

"When was the last time you shaved?"

He could instantly feel the boy beneath him burst into a full-body blush.

Shinobu began to try and wriggle furiously out of his grip. Miyagi's arms, however, were like a vise. The teen hated it when he was asked questions like this; ones that pointed out what he felt were physical shortcomings. He was terribly embarrassed that he was eighteen and still didn't need to shave more than once or twice a week.

When Shinobu realized that any attempt at escape was futile, he grew even more frustrated.

"Why?" he spit sarcastically, "Are you turned off by my manly stubble?"

Miyagi just snuffled into his angry lover's ear.

"Ah, Shu-chin, when you finally acquire some manly stubble, I am sure I will find it just as delightful as the rest of you." Then he added in a voice much more serious. "Perhaps it is wrong of me, but I think I might find it just a bit sad when you really need to shave every day."

In his arms Shinobu stilled and said nothing.

"I like you a bit soft," Miyagi confided.

"Someday too soon, My Dear Brat, the world will make you hard, and I fear I will end up shredded by all your sharp edges." Miyagi punctuated his statement by leaning over and brushing his lips softly against Shinobu's tender mouth.

Then his kiss deepened.

Initially, at this contact, Shinobu closed his eyes, but about halfway through, he opened them and found Miyagi's open as well. Their gazes met and in their meeting unspoken confessions were made.

When the kiss finally broke, Shinobu turned away quickly, his cheeks flushed.

"You've been teaching poetry this week, haven't you?" Though he could not see the face of the man behind him, Shinobu could feel Miyagi draw back slightly.

"Yes. Why?"

"You always get melancholic when you teach poetry… Such sadness doesn't become you." Shinobu said the last part without thinking and then began to panic as he felt Miyagi begin to withdraw his hands in response to his words.

"I suppose you're right," Miyagi stepped further back, completely disengaging.

He ran his fingers nervously through his inky hair with one hand, while the other unconsciously went to his empty breast pocket.

"Damn," he muttered realizing the absence of his smokes. "Maybe I should start grading some papers."

Shinobu knew he had wounded the older man. Desperate to restore the harmony they had so recently been sharing, he found himself forced to resort to drastic measures.

"Or," he pulled a disheveled looking cigarette out of the pack in his jean pocket, "You could go draw us a bath."

Miyagi looked suspiciously into the earnest gray eyes and then offered Shinobu a slight smile.

"Well, anything to get out of helping with the dishes." He slid the cigarette from between Shinobu's slender fingers.

"Oi! Old man, be sure to turn on the fan when you light that damn thing up in there!" Shinobu shouted over his shoulder as Miyagi left the room.

As soon as he heard Miyagi chuckle and the bathroom door close, he leaned against the sink glad the disaster had been averted. It took him a few moments waiting for the relief to truly sink in to finally stop his trembling.

Once he'd finished the dishes, Shinobu moved into the bathroom.

While Miyagi's apartment was by no means palatial, the tub in the unit was actually on the extravagant side. Shinobu was surprised to find Miyagi had already scrubbed and climbed into the bath. He was reclining decadently, obviously savoring his cigarette.

Shinobu was disconcerted to find the situation thus. Tearing off each other's clothes simultaneously in the heat of passion or scrambling out of them in the dark, these he was used to with… but this?

It meant he had to disrobe in front of a still and watchful Miyagi.

Shinobu debated about whether or not to turn his back, but then decided against it. He started taking off his clothes, when he heard Miyagi's rich voice coming from the tub.

"Hey there, Shu, slow down a bit. The water's not going anywhere."

Shinobu looked up and saw the lusty gleam it the man's eyes. Heeding the request, he forced himself to draw his actions out.

Unused to trying to act in a way that passed at all for sensual, he tried to focus on keeping his long fingers from shaking as he gradually revealed himself in the bright light of the bathroom. Noting his tremor, Shinobu berated himself, finding it ridiculous that after all these months that Miyagi could still make him come undone like this.

He was grateful to find, however, his embarrassment dropped more away, with each article of clothing. He was encouraged also by the silent approval glowing in Miyagi's dark-blue eyes.

After what seemed like an eternity, Shinobu was bare. He scrubbed down quickly in the shower and then slipped into the bath, coming to rest, at last, between Miyagi's muscular thighs. Here he leaned back against a hard, broad chest and allowed himself to be soothed.

Miyagi tenderly rubbed Shinobu's tight chest. He slid his large palms over the water-slicked flesh. As they sat together in the bath, Miyagi, with skilled hands, began to stroke Shinobu's slender frame.

He played Shinobu's body as though it were a stringed instrument. Composing an arrangement of eroticism, he authored a musical movement formed from sighs, moans, sharp gasps, and soft breaths that built and then broke at its shuddering crescendo.

Following this, Miyagi drained the tub and rinsed both it and its occupants.

Once he'd climbed out of the tub, standing on still slightly wobbly legs after his powerful climax, Shinobu draped a towel around his narrow waist and then found himself, surprisingly, quickly draped over his lover's broad shoulder as Miyagi, without a word, picked him up and carried him into their bedroom.

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**Thank you for reading and please review. Alerts and favorites too are always appreciated.**


	4. Closer

**The Distance Between Us**

**Chapter Four: Closer**

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"Oi, Old Man, what do you think you're doing?" Shinobu cried as Miyagi drifted into the bedroom with him over his shoulder. He kicked a bit for effect, though his heart was really not into any significant resistance.

"Hush, brat!" Miyagi said, not unkindly. Though Shinobu could not see his face, he could hear the smile in his lover's voice.

"Hey, take it easy!" Shinobu huffed as Miyagi dumped him unceremoniously on the bed.

Then Shinobu immediately fell silent. Looking at Miyagi, in the dim light of the bedroom, he appeared different: larger, more powerful.

Even after the tender moment they had just shared in the bath, this new vision stirred Shinobu's sense of frailty and inadequacy. His hunger for Miyagi, however, rose up and overpowered these other sensations. Whether he was worthy or not, he desperately wanted this man.

Miyagi had straightened himself after dropping his boy. Now he stood studying Shinobu in the shadows of their darkened den. City light, crept in through the window, its glow licked up Shinobu's pale skin.

Illuminated by this, hair damply shining, towel askew, Shinobu looked even younger than usual.

Miyagi felt the old conflicts and convictions rise up inside him, simultaneously with his desire. His passion for Shinobu overthrew his conscience: while his mind was all too aware of the immoral issues involved with what he planned to do to in a matter of minutes, his heart was lawless.

Shinobu raised himself up on his knees, reaching out for Miyagi, at the same time Miyagi bent down, moving into to embrace him. Their lips met and once more there was a fierce oral debate, as each struggled without words to articulate the strength of his ardor for the other.

When their lingual sparring ended in a draw, their mouths moved quickly elsewhere, eager for other audiences: ear, nipple, neck, collarbone, cheek, hip, belly, cock. The silence of their room was soon replaced by a competitive chorus, bass and tenor tones alternating in exertion and exultation.

Looking at Shinobu who now lay on his back, panting heavily, Miyagi was pleased to see the teen becoming erect again. He loved his young lover's resilience. He tried to tell himself he had pleasured Shinobu in the bath so that his boy's eager erection would be prolonged in this present coupling, but he knew this was not the whole truth.

Shinobu's rebuff of his declaration over the dishes had pained him and he'd needed to reduce his boy to salve his ego. Still, even in this, Miyagi's feeling moved him to do this through kindness rather than cruelty.

Shinobu urged his lover on. Miyagi grabbed the lube off the night stand and after anointing both finger and cock, began to tease his boy's quivering entrance with a slick digit. Shinobu grew frustrated when Miyagi refused to enter him without the taking an interminable amount of time to properly prepare him.

He wanted to be filled…now! He loved the size and heat of his lover and felt empty every moment Miyagi was not in him.

While he may have been shy and uneasy in the beginning of their relationship, despite his bold words, already, in this way at least, he had grown. Shinobu no longer hesitated in these moments to ask for what he wanted.

"Get inside me, Miyagi!" he demanded.

Miyagi waited no longer, and immediately complied. Their bodies locked quickly and naturally into each other.

There was a particular fierceness in Miyagi's thrusting tonight, something Shinobu had not felt since the early part of their relationship.

Initially, the older man had been unintentionally brutal: his movements communicating his anger at being forced out into the awareness of who and what he truly was by Shinobu's persistent pursuit. Shinobu had been perceptive enough to recognize this on some level. He had endured it gladly, fighting back his cries, if it meant Miyagi's realizations would eventually make him his.

Then things between the two of them had gradually gentled.

Part of this came as their understanding of the difference between fucking and making love evolved together, because despite the vast gap in their ages, up until they joined, neither had truly understood the difference.

Miyagi suddenly shifted and rolled over onto his back, pulling Shinobu with him. Shinobu found himself sitting astride the older man.

With this, their dynamic changed from him being entered to Miyagi being engulfed. Shinobu rocked his hips, laying his own powerful claim on his elder's body, communicating his possession in equal measure to being possessed.

Then Miyagi intervened once more, moving them in tandem. He withdrew and rolled Shinobu over onto his stomach. Strong hands gripped narrow hips and lifted, positioning Shinobu on his knees and re-entering from behind re-asserting his dominance.

As he found his pace again and his rhythm increased, he reached around and took Shinobu in his hand, working the teen's shaft until they together almost simultaneously: the result of their glorious friction.

When both had ceased in his shudders they collapsed in a fluid-shared heap.

Once again Miyagi shifted them together, moving them onto a side. They lay there panting together from their exertion. After a few minutes, Shinobu made a move to get up. Miyagi growled holding him tightly.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I was going to get something to clean us with."

"Be still, that can wait."

Shinobu snuggled back in at this command without complaint. He was feeling very pleased: Miyagi had not withdrawn from him after coming, and he relished the sense of the man relaxing inside him.

When they had first started having sex, he would withdraw almost immediately after ejaculating and go into the bath to wash himself.

Shinobu had initially thought it was because Miyagi was disgusted with him somehow. He later learned the man had been distressed, but not in the way he had thought. Miyagi had been trying to wash off his conscience along with his cum, during those early times. Now, however, it seemed he had reached a place of resolution.

"Fuck... I need a cigarette, Shu," Miyagi grumbled.

Shinobu sighed. He drew Miyagi with him as he reached under the bed and pulled out an ashtray that also held a half empty pack and a lighter.

"My angel!" Miyagi reached for his fix.

"Oi! One condition!" Shinobu pulled his arm out beyond Miyagi's reach.

"What?"

"I get a drag."

"Put them away!" Miyagi ordered, though his voice was gravelly with want.

"What? Why?" Shinobu was surprised.

"Because there is a limit to even how much an old pervert like me will to corrupt you," Miyagi huffed indignantly.

Shinobu couldn't help it, a very adolescent sounding laugh escaped his lips.

"I'm serious, Shu-chin, I swear by the gods if I ever catch you so much as lighting up… I will kick your ass into next week!

"Understand?"

"Yes, sir, Sensei." Shinobu snorted still laughing.

After this the two lay together in silence, drowsing and drifting in and out of their private thoughts.

"Miyagi?" Shinobu broke their quiet contemplations; his voice was soft now, and surprisingly vulnerable.

He had not forgotten Miyagi's confession to him earlier or his unkind response. He had realized that he'd said it in part out of a sudden terror that his elder might actually be developing feelings for him as strong as his own were for for Miyagi.

While it was what he desired above all things, it also frightened him.

Shinobu also knew that despite his complacent demeanor, Miyagi felt things deeply. He figured his earlier harsh words would lodge like a splinter in his lover's heart. He knew he needed to find a way to extricate these, lest they fester and eventually begin to poison his beloved against him.

"What?" came Miyagi's sleepy response.

"Don't you already find me sharp sometimes, even now?"

Miyagi recalled immediately his words standing at the sink with Shinobu. He sighed and thought for a moment.

_"Time slips away and_

_Young men are honed, while old men_

_Fall melancholic."_

Shinobu was moved by the impromptu haiku. He thought a moment and then responded.

_"My body hardens_

_But my heart stays ever soft,_

_If you are in it."_

Then he added,

_"All my sharp edges_

_Are tempered by your touch, but_

_Nothing dulls my love."_

Miyagi pulled his budding poet closer into him. He traced one of his thick fingers over Shinobu's lightly fuzzed cheek and was unsurprised to feel it wet with tears. He leaned his head over Shinobu's shoulder.

_"When I am older_

_And find but a memory_

_I'll cherish each scar."_

Shinobu began to sob. Miyagi softly stroked his boy's head with a clumsy hand.

Shinobu whispered,

_"Embracing our fate,_

_Nothing will separate us,_

_Not distance, nor death."_

Miyagi heard Shinobu sniff after he said this.

"And you accuse me of being melancholic," he gently chided.

Shinobu said nothing, but gave him a halfhearted nudge in the ribs with one of his bony elbows.

The silence resumed as each of the lovers contemplated their issues of distance. As they lay there, simultaneously, each became aware of his body in relation to the other's.

Entwined, back supported by chest, one head nested atop the other, they were pressed so closely together that Shinobu felt the vacancy caused by Miyagi's every inhalation. Likewise, Miyagi keenly felt the chasm created each time, in this deeply restful place, his belly would separately minutely from his younger's lower back.

Miyagi swept soft kisses along his brat's salty shoulder, he breathed into Shinobu's ear.

_"The distance between_

_Is but a breath, and yet still,_

_This length is too far."_

Shinobu reached his fine fingers up and traced the side of Miyagi's rough cheek.

"I concede. You win," his normally higher voice was husky with emotion.

"How about tonight we both win." Miyagi gently placed his hand atop Shinobu's.

"I love you, Old Man."

"I love you, Brat."

Each pulled the other tighter once more and for a moment not even their breath separated them.

Forgetting about relinquishing their hold on each other to clean up, they lay together like that for the rest of the night until the dawn came the next morning with her bright cruel fingers to pry them apart once again.

_"In love the smallest distance is too great and the greatest distance can be bridged"_

_– Hans Nouwen_

THE END

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**Thank you for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoyed this re-posting and keep an eye out for my other Terrorists fics here.**


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